Thunderstorms
by flaafo
Summary: It seems that monsters follow you for an eternity


"'Ngl'nd?" a small voice cooed, making England jump out of his chair and drop his book. He turned around and noticed a pair of doe eyes staring up at him in worry.

"What are you doing up at this hour, you naughty thing? You're only in your nightgown, too, you'll catch a draft," England scolded, scooping up America, whose arms were outstretched. The tiny nation fisted the lapels on England's coat. "Why are you up?"

"Mm'cause," America said into England's shoulder. The answer was quite childish, and England shouldn't have expected more.

"'mm'cause', hm?" England repeated, trying to pacify America, who had begun to sniffle. " 'mm'cause' why?"

America shook his head no, and kept silent. England paid close attention to the pattering of rain against the roof, and how with every clap of thunder America dug himself further into the older nation's body. "Is it because of the storm?"

Slowly, America nodded.

"Oh, the thunder won't harm you." America didn't seem to believe England, and, sighing, England brought the squirming child to the window. A flash of lightning mocked the two, causing a frightful yelp from the boy. "A- America! Get back here!" England called out when America pried himself from England's grip and scurried out the room in fear, tripping over his nightgown.

England found America in the master bedroom, under the covers of the large bed. He looked completely out of place. The comforter was sure to swallow the boy whole and never give him back.

"What are you doing in my bed?" England asked, foot tapping in beat to the rain.

America poked his head out of the nest of blankets and pillows. "Can...Can I sleep with you? Just for tonight?"

A moment...Two moments, then a sigh of defeat. "Whatever for?"

The little nation sat up as straight as he could and tried his best to look heroic. "To protect you!" He looked quite serious.

"Protect me? Goodness, from what?" England asked, playing the part well (if he did say so himself).

"So you don't get eated by the monsters!" The little ash-blond was waving his arms about now. Another clap of thunder coupled with a jolt of lightning sent the boy under the covers shaking.

England couldn't help but chuckle to himself. "That's only thunder and lightning, boy. Have you gotten into my books again?"

"That's what they want you to think," America said, still under the covers. He was convinced that the rainstorm was really a monster. "The thunder is his growl. The rain's his slobber, and the lightning's his teeth."

"Must be a titanic monster."

"Oh my gosh, he's huge!" America was now sitting on the edge of the bed, brows furrowed in frustration at the grin on England's face. "You don't believe me."

England stopped smiling. "No, no, of course I believe you." He searched Little America's face for any emotion other than childish hate.

"Yeah, well," America started, snuggling back into the covers. He wouldn't be moving anytime soon. "You better not sleep before me!"

England held back laughter. "But how will that protect me from the monster? If the little hero is asleep, then I might get eaten."

There was a look of horror on America's face for a moment. But only a moment. "No, you see the monster will think that I'm trying to surprise him by _pretending_ to sleep!"

"Mmhm…?"

"An' then he'll be like, 'Oh that America's a crafty guy, yup. Better not mess with him.'"

England tried his best to look shocked at how "clever" America was. "By Jove, you've thought this through. How smart of you."

The grandfather clock in the hallway struck nine, signaling England to cut the conversation short. "It's time for bed now. No more funny business."

"Awwwwwww!" America groaned. "But I can't sleep! What if you read me a bedtime story? Maybe then I could sleep!"

In thoughtful contemplation, England pulled a well-read book from the shelf completely crammed with other books, careful not to rip the cover more than it already was. "Only one story, do you hear?"

"Yes sir," the little boy said obediently. As soon as England sat down on the bed, America snuggled up under the elder's arm. "Okay go."

* * *

"Oh, piss off!"

"Iiiiiiiigy."

"No!" England fumed. "I have no time for your nonsense. The meeting dragged on longer than I would have wished it, I'm tired, and I just want to go to bed."

It was well past midnight, and a hazy fog had enveloped the building. It was supposed to rain soon, and hard. England guessed that would have been within the next half-hour; maybe less.

"I suggest," the Briton started, turning away from the window he was looking past and showing his bespectacled friend the door, "We leave before the storm hits."

"Storm?" America asked, head tilted. It was hard to tell if he was feigning innocence or if he was really that stupid, but it got on England's nerves.

England shoved him out the door in a huff, locking it behind him. "You know, a thunderstorm. A tempest. A downpour. Please tell me you know one of these words so you don't make yourself look like a damn fool!"

"Gosh, you make it sound like I'm stupid or something," America mused as they walked out the door, youngest to oldest, "I know what a storm is. But I don't think it's gonna rain that hard."

Their shoes made a clitter-clatter on the cobblestone sidewalk, echoing off the worn-down buildings and getting lost in the mist. Occasionally the two would turn too early because they could barely see ten feet in front of them and ended up facing an alley, and each time America would say "Oops, wrong turn."

Fortunately, as soon as rain began to wash down to the earth, the fog began to dissipate. Unfortunately, the rain became heavy and soon soaked the pair, even with England's umbrella (America was holding it).

"I guess I was wrong," was all America had to say on the matter.

England scowled. "What was your first clue?" he asked sarcastically.

"Well, when we needed to use—"

"That was a rhetorical question."

"Oh."

There was a flash of lightning, followed by the far-off rumbling of thunder seconds later. And even after that, there was America's loud guffaws.

"What's so funny?" England snorted, now shivering from the wet and cold.

It took America a while to reply, because whenever the heavens showed its displeasure upon the earth and another bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, he would start up again with the laughing.

"C'mon, out with it!"

"It's….Ahahaha," America chuckled, "It's that monster, Iggy. He's followed us."


End file.
